


When Negotiations Go Sour

by InTheSky



Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)
Genre: Gunplay, Implied Sexual Content, Interrogation, M/M, Minor Violence, Threats, kind of, not that dark I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheSky/pseuds/InTheSky
Summary: Taking place between when Milo finished his swim with Kida and when Milo leads his 'team' to find the crystal heart.Rourke tries to get Milo to tell him what he needs to know... his methods aren't all that safe.





	1. Earning Your Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gun Control](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468829) by [afterandalasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia). 



Ropes tangled themselves around Milo's wrists, wrenched behind his back. His body twisted backwards as he knelt on the cobblestone ground of Rourke's makeshift office. They'd taken the Atlantian's camp, the smoke remaining as the once-great people fled. It was eerily quiet, empty, fragile, like a precious glass bottle supported by a single, dusty cobweb. Milo listened- what else could he do? The gag in his mouth stopped the linguist's cries of protest long ago. He remembered long, calloused fingers pushing the filthy rag into his mouth, tying it with scratchy rope as the masked men pushed him to the ground.

He ached.

Fatigue was starting to sweep the linguist's mind, his eyes growing heavy as the light- whatever its source- drowned below the horison. His shoulders slumped, head bowed with bloodied lips still stinging. Maybe this would all be gone when he woke up.

Yes, it had to be a dream.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Suddenly, he was pulled from his short slumber. Freezing water gushed down his face as he gasped- the breath wrenched from his mouth.

"Welcome back, Mr Thatch."

Milo looked up, stunned, as his former commander, comfortable in his chair, sat before him. Knife in one hand, the other on his gun. A laugh rumbled through the man's chest as he saw fear erupt on the stubborn linguist's face.

"Don't have to worry 'bout this, son..."

He stood, prowling towards him before gripping Milo's chin in one hand after gesturing to his weapons

"As long as you behave, that is."

The threat hung in the air, Milo's breathe catching in his throat as Rourke stood again. Silence, tense, the calm before the storm. His thoughts were running wild. A hand in his hair and Milo was thrashing, pulling, as he was dragged upwards and slammed against the wall. His breath quickened, squirming as he was pinned with the commanders own body.

Click.

The gun lay pressed against his cheek, his eyes wide, frightened, animal-like as he watched it. He stilled.

"Good."

The gun was pulled away, Milo releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Before he knew it, Rourke was talking again, taking out a knife as it glinted in the blue light, the reflection appearing in the linguist's glasses. He kicked at Rourke's knees, thrashing once more as the knife deftly found its way behind his back, tip pressed sharply against his spine. Their eyes met, Rourke's strong and still, like the cobbled ground while Milo's franticly shook like a butterfly captured in a spider's web. His eyes narrowed, boring into Rourke's own as he stilled himself, his heart beating madly like a cacophany of drums. Moving now would mean a broken spine and a pool of blood- which would most definitely be his. Rourke smirked.

He held up the page as Milo's eyes widened. The missing page was right in front of him, just out of reach-

He kneed Rourke in the stomach, the knife cluttering downwards and into the shadows as the commanded briefly let go in shock. Legs scrambled as Milo desperatly tried to grab onto the page somehow- even if he had to trap it with his shoulder against the floor.

Rourke's growl erupted in the small, makeshift room as pain smashed into Milo's side, the commander's powerful legs furiously kicking him in the ribs before he found himself thrown back into the wall, Rouke once again trapping him.

He barely had time to breath before he registered the large hand around his throat, his vision rapidly growing dark.

"Didn't know you had it in you, son."

Rourke only panted for a second, his own breath coming back easily.

"But no more games, I think it's time you told me what I want to know."

____________________________________________________________________________________

The gun felt cold, freezing even, against his tongue. Heavy with bullets tense inside the cartridges, bursting to get out.

"Now, Mr Thatch, are you ready to tell me?"

His arms shook, his legs shook, his whole body shook. Shiverring under Rourke's icy gaze, his predatory smile making his spine crawl. How badly he wanted to tell him, to get this over with, to be done. But he couldn't, it seemed impossible to betray the Atlantian's trust onced he seen their amazing culture. He simply couldn't.

He shook his head.

Rourke's simple faltered, barely for a second, before it grew. Danger shone in his eyes as he pushed he gun deeper.

"Well, if you wont talk, we'll see what else that mouth can do."

He paled, the gun pushing farther into his mouth before he realised what Rourke wanted from him. Humiliation coloured his face as he looked away in shame. This wasn't how he thought his journey would go. Not at all.

Rourke's pleased expression obscured Milo's view as his lips wrapped around the gun's barrel, sucking quietly as his commander relished in his shame. His finger remaining on the trigger, a constant threat as Milo continued- what else could he do? 

Force obviously wasn't going to work, and he couldn't exactly talk his way out of this, considering the gun and all...

Glancing up, he saw Rourke's lust-filled eyes, that smile remaining as a new fear crept up Milo's spine. The gun slid out of his mouth, wet with saliva as rough hands gripped his brown hair, tugging, elicting small grunts of pain from the linguist. He was pushed down to his knees, faced with his commander's crotch.

"Practice is over, Mr Thatch. Time you earned your keep."


	2. Learning Your Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo learns his place with Rourke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I'm sorry I've been gone for so long! I kind of just forgot about this fic  
> Second: Sorry again that it's so short, I'm kind of using the archive to practise writing characters rather than writing full stories.  
> Enjoy :)

He couldn't believe it, how dare Rourke do this? Milo's face turned red with rage as he gritted his teeth, glaring up at the man he onced idolised.

"Problem, Mr Thatch?"

He southern accent shook through his skull, grating his nerves. The large, rough hand on the back of his head gripped Milo's hair, pulling it taut- shooting bolts of sharp pain through his head. His neck clicked, the odd angle positioning it unnaturally and Rourke's hand continued to pull, the towering man strengthening his grip. Shaking with fear, his coarse attempt at convincing himself to be brave ended rapidly. The power in those hands... it was enough to send any grown man running home- a simple tug had already tempted the linguist to do the same.

He lowered his eyes- Rourke's smile grew in anticipation. He'd done it, shown that insubordinate boy. Unzipping his trousers, he pulled his manhood out, stroking it once before jogging Milo's head. The linguist jerked back, his futile attempt only earning him another sharp wrenching of his head as he was forced down, he cock filling his mouth. Heavy on his tongue, Milo desperately tried on concentrate on anything but what was in front of him- inside him. His clawing arms flailed around uselessly, frantically twisting in he ropes as Rourke's hips pummelled into his mouth.

"Gotta say, son..." the commander panted, his barrel-like chest rising and falling rapidly "this is probably the best work you've done in a while"

Chest tight, Milo's vision darkended, breath growing shorter and shorter as Rourke continued mercilessly pounding into his mouth. And just as he was closing his eyes, ready to submit to the blissful darkness that would let him escape this sin- Rourke pulled out, shooting his seed onto Milo's face, some falling into his open, gasping mouth.

Spluttering, he was dropped to the ground unceremoniously, his coughing filling the small room.

"How... how could you do this?" the salty aftertaste still lingered in his mouth, reminding him of his haunting experience.

"Basic hierarchy lessons, Thatch. You needed to learn your place," his smug smile etched itself into Milo's memory "I simply helped you learn"


End file.
